Last Goodbye
by Fortyfive stars
Summary: Oneshot. On New Year's Eve, all is not well in the world of Ginny and Harry, and they finally find the courage to say good bye.


Well, here's something I swore I'd never do. I've writtten a HP/GW story. My God, who'd  
have thunk it? Not me, that's who! I'm so astonished that I can't really say anything more than  
that about it. 

Earlier today I read an excellent essay over at the HP Lexicon site (it was  
about why Harry and Hermione weren't suited for each other, and by the  
way I'm a Harmony and Dramione fan. Hell, I'll ship anyway you want as  
long as Hermione's involved) and it was really good, it was. It had a lot of  
brilliant examples, it was easy to follow, and all in all I felt it was a very  
well planned essay that a lot of thought had gone into. It also made me  
realise that the way I write the HP cast, they are so _way_ out of character  
that sometimes they're basically just original characters that I stuck  
familiar names on. Which makes me a cheat, yes, but still.

I also realised that I like to make major character changes that are,  
character-wise, simply not canon and therefore simply not acceptable to  
me as a reader –but apparently perfectly acceptable to me as a writer,  
don't you just hate double standards?- and then constantly, I mean  
CONSTANTLY, trying to pull it off by blaming it on the war. So, yeah,  
basically everything hinges on the war. Woot.

Then I always start making promises and resolves to, from henceforth,  
stick so tightly to canon –again, character-wise- that you'd need a saw to  
separate us. And then… I break those promises. Why am I saying this? It's  
my explanation, not excuse, for the OOC-ness of Harry and Ginny that are  
about to follow. Enjoy.

- - -

It was New Year's Eve and a high-to-do glimmering, glittering celebrity-packed  
Ministry ball was being held in the lofty locales of the Rose Palace. The rooms  
were large and airy and the many colorful decorations did little to hide the sheer  
size and opulence surrounding them. Harry and Gin had enjoyed the food and  
the wine –perhaps a bit too much- and it was not long before they started tittering  
and shooting each other meaningful looks accompanied by head tilts in the  
direction of some tawdry ornament or grand but tacky portrait series.

But that had been hours ago, and although they might have been fine  
back in 2011, this new year wasn't treating them all that well. In fact,  
they were having a painful argument right there on the dancefloor and  
although Ginny was embarassed, she also suddenly saw that no matter  
how much you might try to patch something up, some things are just not  
made to be repaired.

"Gin, I—can't you put off babies for a little while longer? I know I've been  
busy, I know I've been absent but things will change, they will, really, I  
promise. I'll be home more, I'll see more of you, I promise." They had  
stopped dancing altogether, just staring at each other. Harry softly said,  
"I want to see more of you."

"No, Harry, I can't. I'm so sorry, but I just can't. It's just not babies, it's  
you not getting serious about our future, it's you never coming home in  
time for dinner, it's about—Merlin, it's about thank you-cards. I'm tired of  
being your little housekeeper, of looking after you and organising our  
home all alone. Alone, Harry. I'm lonely."

"You have me," he whispered and tried to kiss her, but she drew back,  
shaking her head.

"I don't. I wish I did, wish so bad, but I don't."

"I love you," he said all helplessly and his hands pressed around her  
tighter for a few seconds. She melted into his embrace and rested her  
head against his chest.

"I know you do. I love you too. But I love me as well." She whispered, and  
squeezed her eyes shut painfully. A pair of lone tears welled up in the corners.

"_This is the last dance of the evening, wizards and witches, and it's one for  
the lovers. I hope you've had a wonderful time tonight, and that we'll be  
seeing the lot of you again. Good night, and happy new year._"

The song was a slow, stately waltz, all elegance and grace. The  
undercurrent smacked of something sad and mellow, drawn out and  
quivering notes from the strings of a cello.

Harry's lips flexed sadly as they held each other tight and twirled through  
their last dance, both trying to take in enough memories to last them  
through a life where they were not together. He inhaled deeply the scent  
of her hair, she touched the smooth skin of his throat and blindly fumbled  
for his lips with her own.

"I guess we're done here," he said softly into her ear when the last note  
had died out and she nodded. He was right. They were done, long past  
overdue done. It was a new year now, wasn't it, and there would be  
things that they'd need to do, and papers to sign. In a few hours.

"I'll walk you to the door." He took her by the arm carefully and she was  
touched by the unexpected gentlemanly gesture.

"There'll be papers and stuff," she said without looking at him as they left  
the ballroom shoulder by shoulder, staring straight ahead. Ginny suddenly  
felt old. She was thirtytwo but she felt weary and far beyond those years.  
Weary and tired.

She sensed more than saw him nod and push a hand through his hair,  
messing it up. Nowadays he only did that when he was distressed or tired  
because that was when he slipped and forgot why he didn't otherwise do  
it. It reminded him, them all, too much of James and through James of  
Sirius and Remus. She squeezed his hand reassuringly and knew that the  
shadow of a smile swept over his face as they pushed through the crowd.

"Yeah, I know. It'll be okay, I promise. I won't leave you high and dry,  
Gin, don't worry. Always figured I had too much money anyway, right?  
I'll… we'll take care of it together."

She nodded, throat constricted, and felt shame and embarassment  
heating her cheeks.

"Yeah, okay. Great. Mighty big of you." She said hoarsely, blinking against  
the sting of a sudden onslaught of new tears. Humiliating, but true – she  
needed the money, after all. Harry was wise enough not to try to  
apologise or take back his ill-considered words; she was sure he hadn't  
meant it to sound like that. His jaw just set grimly.

They didn't speak any more words until he had packed her safely into a  
Ministry-funded limousine and given the adress to the driver. Then he  
poked his head inside through the window and they were suddenly looking  
each other in the eye.

"I'll, uh, crash with Ron and Herms tonight, okay?" Awkward. Everything  
was suddenly awkward, and they looked away, back, away, all skitterish  
and restless.

"No," she said on impulse, and to her own great surprise. "No. Come  
home. It's still your home, this last night." He studied her seriously for a  
few moments, and then he nodded.

"Yeah. Okay. Yeah." And then he climbed into the car with her, and they  
sped off into the bleak day that was just dawning against the city's dark  
silhouette.

And they'd be fine, eventually. They'd be fine.


End file.
